The 221B Chronicles
by Caribbean1989
Summary: When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield. But we sure love that battlefield, don't we! A collection of one-shots, short stories and drabbles. Chapter 1 - A Day at the Races: Sherlock and John are called out to a crime scene at a racecourse. All reviews are appreciated. If you want to submit ideas for future chapters, please don't hesitate to do so!


**Lately I have been having a lot of inspiration for one-shots and short stories, so I decided to start a collection of those...  
****If you want to submit your ideas for future chapters, please do not hesitate to send me a message or you can leave your idea in the comments. It can be a worked out idea or simply a songtitle/lyric or only a few words.  
Please note that I mostly write hurt/comfort stories and absolutely no slash!**

**Further, all reviews are appreciated and enjoy reading! :-)**

* * *

"Sherlock, why are we here?" John asked. "Crime scene" Sherlock simply answered.  
John looked apprehensively at the entrance gates to Ascot Racecourse. "You do know it is Royal Ascot today?" he said a little nervously, "the Queen will be here".  
"Like she will be watching us" Sherlock said. "Yeah, well, I think we are underdressed" John said. He nervously looked at all the fancy dressed people around him. All the women were wearing their finest dresses and large hats, all the men had their best three piece suits on.  
John equally nervously assessed his own clothing. A plain shirt, a jumper, jeans. He could not stand more out in this crowd. Sherlock always looked smart in his suits, but even the consulting detective could not match this level of posh.

"Are you really sure about this?" John tried one last time, even though he already knew the answer. Sherlock merely glanced at him and did not bother with a reply.

* * *

There was a queue at the entrance, but Sherlock resolutely walked past the line of waiting people. "Uhm, Sherlock" John began, "I think we are supposed to…"  
"No, we're not" Sherlock interrupted. John looked past the queue at where Sherlock was heading and he immediately understood. A little to the side, but definitely waiting for them, was Mycroft. The older Holmes did not look so out of place among this crowd, wearing a fine three piece suit. As usual, he was holding his umbrella even though it was a bright and sunny day.

"I didn't know you were actually going to be here" Sherlock said by way of greeting. "A possible national security threat? Naturally I am going to be here" Mycroft answered grumpily. "Well, let's see about that threat then" Sherlock answered, cutting off any further conversation.

Mycroft led the way to a separate entrance gate, which was for personnel only.  
Gates and doors were held open for them and eventually they ended up in a small room under the grandstand.  
"What are we doing here?" This is not a crime scene" Sherlock noted grumpily. "Oh, great deduction" Mycroft sneered, "I will explain the situation to you both here, where we shall not be overheard".  
"Sounds serious" John said. "It is" Mycroft began, "today, the body of Patrick Jones was found". Mycroft pulled out a few crime scene photos and handed them to Sherlock. John watched the photos over Sherlock's shoulder as the consulting detective hastily flipped through them.  
"Mr. Jones' body was found on the infield of the racecourse" Mycroft continued, "just behind the finish post".  
"And why is this man important enough for you to be involved? Clearly he is a jockey" Sherlock said. Mycroft smiled coldly at his brother. "Mr. Jones was set to ride the Queen's horse in the Gold Cup today. A note was left on the body that can be read as a threat to the Queen. We tend not to take chances when she's involved".  
"Oh, of course not" Sherlock commented sarcastically. Mycroft simply watched his little brother flip through the last of the crime scene photos.  
"Any ideas?" Mycroft asked after a moment. "Ten, so far" Sherlock answered, "but I will have to see the actual crime scene. These photos are shockingly limited". Mycroft rolled his eyes, but did not complain and started showing them to the crime scene.

Once outside they worked their way through the enormous crowd. It was instantly evident where the crime scene was. On the infield of the racecourse, just behind the finish post, a series of green screens had been erected to shield the crime scene from the prying eyes of the racegoers.

The second race had just started as Mycroft, John and Sherlock reached the edge of the course. They now had to wait for the race to finish before they could cross to the other side.  
John took this opportunity to better observe Sherlock. They were still among many people and John knew Sherlock was not fond of large crowds. However, the consulting detective was not paying much attention to other people. Instead he was looking at the thundering racehorses with something that much resembled… interest. John was surprised by this. Sherlock and animals did not usually mix well and he had never expected Sherlock to like something as common as horseracing. At first John thought he must be imagining it, but as the field thundered past them at top-speed, he could definitely see Sherlock's eyes following the horses closely. John was about to remark on it when the three of them were given the okay to cross the course and he decided to drop the matter. For now, at least…

* * *

Behind the green screens the crime scene was buzzing with activity. Forensic techs were investigating and photographing the scene, Anderson was shouting instructions at some of his men, Donovan was interviewing a witness and Lestrade was talking to the racecourse manager.  
Sherlock did not wait for the approval of either Lestrade or Anderson and determinedly walked over to the body. John and Mycroft stayed a little behind and let the consulting detective do his job. Anderson, of course, immediately complained about Sherlock contaminating his crime scene, but he was quickly silenced by Lestrade.

Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass and began his examination. Everyone else could merely watch as he circled around the body still lying on the ground, inspecting every inch of it. Minutes went by like this.  
"John" Sherlock finally called, standing up, "tell me what you think". John walked over to Sherlock and the body of Patrick Jones. "I am not a pathologist" John said. "No, you're a doctor" Sherlock answered with a slight smirk, "but I guess you'll still be able to diagnose something useful". John could not help but smile a little and set to work.

"He was definitely strangled" John thought out loud during his examination, "I know he was found hanging from the neck, but he did not commit suicide. These marks here on the back of his neck show he was strangled from behind. This man was definitely murdered". Sherlock nodded in agreement, "my thoughts exactly".

John and Sherlock returned to Mycroft, who was now in a conversation with Lestrade.  
"You can tell the Queen she is safe" Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "Care to elaborate?" Mycroft asked impatiently. "Mr. Jones here was having an affair with a colleague's wife. He himself is going through a rough patch in his marriage, judging from the tone of his wife's texts and the number of ignored calls from her. Then, there is lipstick on his shirt-collar and on his neck. Not his own wife's, since their marriage is about to fall apart. The rest of the story is also told by his phone. A large number of calls from and to a woman named Magnolia. Now that is such a hideous and uncommon name, that the chances of two fellow jockeys both having a relationship with a woman named Magnolia are very slim".  
"You're saying the betrayed husband killed him?" John asked bewildered. "Naturally" Sherlock continued, "the killer probably found out about the affair of Mr. Jones with this Magnolia and was enraged by it. Thus leading to his strangulation. You're looking for a Mr. Albert Smith, also a jockey. He is married to Magnolia and most likely the killer".  
Lestrade was clearly not convinced yet. "How did he end up here? And what about the threat to the Queen?"  
Sherlock scoffed. "Cover up. The body was displayed here and the threat planted to distract us from the real motive of the murder. I mean, if you were a serious terrorist, would you kill a jockey and leave a handwritten note stuck to the body with duct-tape?! No, this was a spur-of-the-moment decision. You can tell the Queen to enjoy her day and watch her horse finish last".

Mycroft seemed to consider his brother's theory for a moment, before he walked away to make a phone call. Lestrade rounded up some men and also left the crime scene, probably to make the arrest.  
"How do you know the Queen's horse is going to finish last?" John asked Sherlock. "Because it is no good. It is no match for the other horses in the race" the consulting detective answered. John stared at Sherlock in complete amazement. "You actually know something about racing?" he asked. Sherlock shrugged, "it is just a matter of observing".

John smiled to himself for his little discovery. "Come on, John" Sherlock called over his shoulder, he had already started to walk back in the direction of the course. John had to jog to catch up with him.  
"Just speak your mind, John" Sherlock said, sensing John had many questions he wanted to ask. "How do you know so much about horseracing?" John asked. Sherlock snorted, "I don't know much about it, I simply observe. It gets you a long way". John was not satisfied with this answer. "You knew Patrick Jones was a jockey, simply from watching crime scene photos. Also you know who Magnolia's husband is" John threw in.  
"Jockeys have a very distinct physique" Sherlock answered, " short, slim but strong, rough hands and the simple fact that we are being called to a crime scene at a racecourse. And a quick online search for Magnolia, immediately gives you the name of her jockey husband. Like I said, it is an uncommon name". John could not object to anything of that. It was true what Sherlock said.  
"Still, I do not believe that you can predict the outcome of a race merely by observing" John said, " you must have some knowledge". Sherlock smirked at John, but did not give him any clue to whether he was right or not.  
Together they walked out of the entrance gates, leaving the racecourse, the horses and the crime scene behind.

* * *

**The next morning**

John was having his breakfast at the kitchen table and reading the morning newspaper.  
"Morning" Sherlock mumbled. The consulting detective shuffled into the kitchen ruffling his hair and yawning widely. He stopped at the kitchen counter to pour himself some tea, before turning around to John. "Was I right?" Sherlock asked. "What?" John looked up at his friend. Sherlock motioned to the newspaper lying open in front of John. " Oh" John said, now understanding and flipping through the pages to the sports section. He found the article reporting on the outcome of the Gold Cup and quickly scanned through it.  
"I'll be damned" John said after a minute. "The Queen's competitor Tiger's Roar, ridden by replacement-jockey Mike Branch, finished last of the twelve-horse field" John cited from the newspaper. Sherlock gave him one of his characteristic smirks and retreated to the living room. John kept staring at the article. "You're a man full of surprises, Sherlock Holmes" he whispered to himself.


End file.
